Gentrification of the Soul

We ask for
oblivion.


Release memories.


Pulling the gold
of hair back
as you vomited
into a paint bucket
outside Lena's van........


Forget me
stealing money
from your
coin bottle
for ice cream.

A mutual truce to
wipe away
the dust of
the past

taken up
as motes
lost in the blue
immensity.


We'll forget
times when,
unknown to others,
we shit ourselves,
spoke untruths,
or played the poltroon

and smile
in clean rooms
awaiting
new dust to
unsettle.